


The Wiggentree

by Gcgraywriter



Series: Paneville [11]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dementia, F/M, Gardens & Gardening, Married Couple, Old Age, Old Married Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:34:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27452086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gcgraywriter/pseuds/Gcgraywriter
Summary: Prompt 10 - HarvestLife can be cruel sometimes...
Relationships: Neville Longbottom/Pansy Parkinson
Series: Paneville [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1721938
Comments: 11
Kudos: 17
Collections: Paneville





	The Wiggentree

The Wiggentree swayed in the afternoon air, it’s branches laden with the bright scarlet beads. He had planted it as a token of their peace and safety when they had taken over the large, manor house, many years previous. 

She gazed back at it and smiled, never in her childhood had this been a happy home, but almost every shadow had been exorcised from it now. Where solemn silence and cold detachment had clung to the air like cigar smoke, laughter and warmth lingered like the scent of freshly baked bread. 

If you had asked her, it was strange which path her life had taken, completely unforeseen. When she was still a teenager, she had seen her life mapped out before her—a cold and stilted life of servitude to a dull but rich husband. However, war swept through the community like a tidal wave, and that future was gone and forgotten. 

She had never quite given up on the idea of a large white wedding, and fancy parties, nor the idea or children, even though the thought terrified her, it was expected. After the war, she assumed that she would be left upon the shelf, damaged goods and not nearly new and pure enough to make a difference. 

The kettle boiled on the stove, jolting her from her reverie as she busied herself with the tea. Her hands shook with age as she placed the kettle back and, levitating the tray out into the garden, she looked for her husband. Passing the peonies and the lupins, she could hear him digging. She moved passed the buzzing cotoneaster as the bees hungrily clung to the flowers. When she and the tray rounded the edge of the buddleia, sending a small cloud of butterflies up into the air, she found him. 

His back was bent with age, but it still filled her with love as he looked up and smiled. His hair had lightened in all their years together, whereas hers was still as dark as pitch with the od gunmetal grey strand running through here and there. She hobbled forward levitating the tray closer to him so that he could grasp his mug. He threw the shovel into the dirt where it stood straight in the air. 

“Ah, a visitor to my garden,” He smiled taking the cup, “A visitor bearing gifts too. The best kind!”

“Well, I know digging is thirsty work,” She smiled, grabbing her own mug and lowering herself gently into the bench. 

“That’s true,” he nodded. 

“So, what are you planting here?” She asked, He had told her before, but she liked to show interest. 

“I was thinking of a bed of poppies. My wife loves poppies. They remind her of her sister,” He explained, and she nodded. 

“That sounds lovely, the big opium poppies?” she asked. She smiled sadly as she remembered the little sister she had lost in the war all those years ago. The fact that he still remembered small details like that touched her heart, bringing a tear to her eye. 

“Yes, those and some of the other breeds too, the colours will cheer her up. She's been very down recently, but she won't tell me why. But she will when she’s happy again. Once she sits there.” He said, pointing to where she sat. He turned his eyes to her, and she watched as his smile broadened into his showstopping crooked grin. The one she had fallen in love with all those years ago. The one he reserved just for her. “There you are my love, I was just talking about you.”

“Really? What were you saying? All good things I hope?”

“As usual,” he said, and he hobbled forward to place a gentle kiss against her cheek. His skin was more tanned and wrinkled from age, but his hazel eyes were still as sharp and kind as they ever hand been. “I was telling our visitor about the bed of poppies I was going to plant for you.”

“That sounds lovely, my darling. What breeds?” 

“The big opium ones, I know they’re your favourite, but I was thinking some other ones too.”

“I’m sure they will look beautiful. Thank you, my love.” She held his hand, treasuring this time with him. The older they got, the more his mind seemed to wonder, sometimes not recognising her for days at a time. They were the worst, he could get angry and confused, not knowing where he was or where she was even as she stood there in front of him. She squeezed his hand as she kept the tears inside. 

“What do you think about moving the greenhouse to that corner of the garden?” He asked, pointing to the corner behind the large cedar trees. “The cedars will help hide it from sight.”

“If that’s what you want to do, But it might be a good idea to as Logan to help you, you know he has plants in there too,” She said, mentioning their son, she found talking about them often kept them in his memory. 

“Logan’s too young to help, but yes, I’ll need help. I will owl Harry or Ron and see whether they’re free.” Pansy looked down. They had been at Ron’s funeral earlier in the year, and Harry wasn’t far behind. His husband’s death had been hard on the golden boy. 

“Of course darling, We can send the owl after we drink our tea.” Neville smiled and kissed her again, holding her head against him. 

“I love you, wife.” He said with a smile before standing up. He looked out onto the garden and pointed to where the greenhouse could go. “I think if we move the greenhouse over there, we could really increase our harvests, what do you think, my love?” He said, sipping his tea as he turned around to her. “Oh, where did she go?”

“Who?” Pansy asked, her heart breaking ever so slightly. 

“My wife, she was just here,” He looked around for her and shook her head. “She must have gone to get the biscuits.”

“So what were you saying about the greenhouse,” She asked, gripping her teacup tighter. 

“Oh yes, I’ll tell you while I wait for her to come back,” He smiled as she started to tell her about his plans. She watched as he talked animatedly about his plants and his goals and kept her face a careful mask as she wondered how long it would be until he remembered her again.


End file.
